


Fraternity

by Galadriel1010



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel1010/pseuds/Galadriel1010
Summary: In which John and Mycroft don't and then almost do have a conversation on what it's like being a brother to an addict.
Relationships: Harry Watson & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2020





	Fraternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pagimag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagimag/gifts).



> Massive thanks to JayBeeFox for the beta read!

The heavy tread on the stairs was familiar and, whilst not particularly welcome, it wasn’t exactly unwelcome either. John didn’t look up from his blog post until Mycroft had pushed the door open with the tip of his umbrella and was framed in the doorway to survey the room. “Morning, Mycroft. Got another wayward laptop for us to track down?”

Mycroft gave him that thin, unamused smile. “Not today, thankfully. I was in the area, and wondered if Sherlock was…”

He trailed off and John chuckled. “Sherlock is a lot of things. An arsehole, yes. Here, no.”

“So I see.” He looked around the room and took in God only knew what. John sometimes thought that the pair of them had got so good at reading what people weren’t saying that they’d lost track of how to have an actual conversation. Lost track or stopped caring. Or never started. Mycroft’s eyebrows said something complicated that John didn’t understand, and he smiled again. “Quite so.”

“I’m glad you agree with whatever it was I didn’t say.” John turned his attention back to his blog again, glanced back at the comment that was vexing him, and pushed himself out of his seat. “Cup of tea? I’m sure Sherlock will be back sometime this week if you want to wait.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Thank you, but no. I should be getting on. Don’t tell him I called, will you?”

“You know it annoys him.”

“Precisely.” He looked lost for a moment in some fond recollection, then dragged himself out of whatever form his mind palace took and inclined his head at John. “Until next time. Do try to keep him out of trouble, won’t you? Or at least the sort of trouble I have to bail the pair of you out of.”

John snorted. “Your faith in my abilities is…”

“I’m well aware, Doctor Watson. But even I am allowed my flights of fancy.” Mycroft gestured at the living room. “And after all, there’s not even a cigarette in the place. Perhaps we’ll be allowed some peace and quiet, however brief it is.”

He made to leave, but John stopped him before he’d got more than a pace towards the door. “How do you do it?” he asked quietly. “Sherlock is… Christ, he’s an arsehole. To you especially, and I didn’t even know him before…” Mycroft wasn’t looking at him now, but what John could see of his face was set with that distant, cool expression that meant he was anything but. “Obviously I don’t know what… but Greg and I got talking about… you know.”

“About the drugs?” Mycroft turned back towards him, just a fraction, and his throat worked for a second around whatever emotions he kept caged. “He can be difficult. We do what we must, though.”

“But how? How do you put up with…” he gestured at the empty chair, “with him being so Sherlock?”

Mycroft looked at him again, confusion clearer than anything else. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did,” John told him. “You did, and I know you did because I took it.” He gestured at the laptop, at his phone next to it. “I walked away, Mycroft. I ran off and joined the army because I couldn’t watch Harry destroying her life any more. I looked at a choice between getting shot at and dealing with my own sister, and I got shot.” Mycroft stared at him and he had to look away. “I’m not proud of it. I’m deeply ashamed, if I’m honest. But I know… I know you had a choice, and you made the right one.”

The silence stretched between them whilst Mycroft watched him and took in all the things John didn’t know he was saying. Eventually he lifted his chin a little and smiled ruefully. “Do you know, I never even thought about it.”

John snorted. Not because he didn’t believe it, the look on Mycroft’s face was too surprised for that. By which he meant that one eyebrow had raised at least a millimetre. He laughed because it was, in hindsight, so obvious. “That says a lot about you.”

“Oh? And what exactly does it say about me?”

“That you’re a good man, Mycroft Holmes.”

He laughed, unable to hide his surprised pleasure. “Careful,” he warned, “that’s highly classified information. If it were to get out…”

“You’d have to have me killed, I know. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Mycroft pointed at John’s mobile with the tip of his umbrella. “You should call her.”

“You think so?”

“No, but you do. It isn’t too late, Doctor Watson.”

John lifted his chin. “How do you know?”

The look that passed over Mycroft’s face was complicated. Wistful, rueful, surprisingly open and worryingly concerned. “She’s alive, isn’t she?”

He sighed and his eyes dropped to his phone again. “Yeah. You’re right. Of course you’re right, you’re always right.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, especially when it comes to the intricacies of human relationships. Sherlock and I are, after all, hardly a model of fraternal warmth.”

“But you care about each other, and that…” He saw Mycroft refrain from rolling his eyes and scoffed. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Of course he cares about you. He’d go to the ends of the earth to annoy you, sure, but if someone came after you to get to him he’d do more than throw them out a window.”

That at least made Mycroft laugh, although he still didn’t look like he believed John. “Defenestration as a gesture of affection? That is very Sherlock. I do hope it doesn’t catch on, though. The NHS is stretched enough as it is.”

“I don’t think he’d call an ambulance, if it were you.” John looked down at his laptop again. “Go on, I’ll keep your secret. And yes, I’ll call my sister, don’t worry. She probably won’t pick up, but at least I’ll be able to say I tried.”

“Ah yes. Now that is a familiar sentiment.” Mycroft returned to that thin, unamused smile and turned away. “Good afternoon, Doctor Watson. Try to get Sherlock to answer his calls, will you?”

“I’m his housemate, not the second coming of Christ,” John reminded him. “Bye, Mycroft.” He waited until he heard Mrs Hudson call out her farewells and the front door close behind Mycroft before he sank into his chair and reached for his phone.


End file.
